


Morning

by windandthestars



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Multi, OT4, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windandthestars/pseuds/windandthestars
Summary: Will sets the spatula down and turns to look at her, at the three of them, no longer laughing but all three smiling, and sighs before throwing his hands up. “We’re going to need a bigger coffee maker if I’m going to have to deal with the three of you every morning.”





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Sad!Sloan got stuck in my head and I had to fix it. Set after the end of season 3 so spoilers for the series as a hole. Mention of major character death.

She hadn’t intended to spend one last night here, curled up with Mac, both of them drowsy and half asleep, but she supposes there’s a sort of inevitability to it, the force of habit pulling them together. A part of her knows that Will be home eventually, that she’ll have to go back to her place or to Don’s, but right now she doesn’t care.

She can feel Mac’s breathing evening out, feel the fingers in her hair slowing and knows she must be close to drifting off herself, the glass of wine on the overturned crate beside the bed warm and untouched. They’d never drunk the wine, even on first night in what could’ve been a celebration or funeral they’d left the glass untouched. They still poured a glass every night though, needing the pretense for the chatter that quickly petered out, an excuse for the way Sloan laid her head on Mac’s shoulder, shifted closer.

The first night they’d fallen asleep unintentionally. Jim or whoever had stopped by to check on Mac had covered them both with the sheet that had been bunched at the end of the bed, poured the wine down the drain, put Sloan’s shoes next to where she’d draped her cardigan over the metal bar of a scaffold.

They were more organized now, practice had become habit, but she knew they wouldn’t be waking later to brush their teeth, pry off the last of their makeup, return to stay wedged together, Mac absently stroking her head as they drifted off again. Will would be coming home and she’d have to go.

She couldn’t begrudge him that, wanting to come home to his wife: to hold her, to comfort and find comfort. Sloan had been waiting for the day. She’d wanted so badly for that day to come for Mac’s sake, for Will’s, but it had been a week, another unbearably long week and she’s finding it harder to let go than she’d thought she would.

There was Don, still, seemingly always. Don who had been so patient. Don who had raided his closet at five a.m. to find her clothes to wear when she’d forgotten on a Monday, a Wednesday, that she was teaching the next day and had intended to let Jim stay the night if he felt the need, had intended to spend the night in her own bed so she didn’t roll out of bed the next morning already twenty minutes late because she needed to cram herself into a subway car and head uptown. He’d met her with clothes and with breakfast, squeezing her arm with a smile before disappearing down the stairs to catch a train back to his bed.

There were nights she knew he’d been here, had found the extra blanket in the closet on a cooler night or washed the dishes Jim had left in the sink the day before, had kissed her forehead as she’d drowsed and told to her to have a good night’s sleep. 

There had been other nights too, nights at his place, when she’d curled against him, burrowed closer, until he’d woken up enough to wrap his arms around her and whisper sleepily in her ear until she’d fallen to sleep.

There was Don, but it wasn’t the same. He’d been patient, understanding, gentle. Mac had been silent, bereft. She’d offered the comfort she wouldn’t allow herself to seek and Sloan had basked in it, had shared in the worry and the stress, had shared in the hope.

In the weeks after Will had been incarcerated she’d found herself drowning. An hour and a half a day of airtime had turned into two and a half, plus prep and rundown meetings, writing, proofing, editing, arguments with Pruitt, stepping in for Mac when Jim, pulled too thin, couldn’t. The semester hadn’t yet ended; she’d been teaching. Finals had laid waste to her life, had left her grading papers on the subway, in between desperate bites at dinner, after midnight when she couldn’t sleep.

It should’ve been better after that, easier, but she’d been stretched too thin and had found that more time did not mean more time. More time meant more arguments at the office, more frustration over the segments they couldn’t run, more time to miss Will’s guiding hand, his even stoicism, the smile Mac had only for him.

She’d thought things would be easier when he came back but that had been before Charlie— before she had to miss him too, before Mac had disappeared to fill his shoes, to rearrange the furniture in hope that the feeling of loss would dissipate.

It hadn’t. It had only gotten worse.

Will was back, but they both felt empty, alone. She spent her free time in his office trying to fill the space Mac and Charlie had left behind, fill it with silence and chatter, with her presence, but unlike Mac she was floundering, these shoes were too big for her to fill. She’d known that, but she’d kept trying day in and day out for the entire week.

Tonight was the first night she’d left before Will’s show, the first night Mac had as well. She’d said she was tired; Sloan had smiled and asserted the same, but that hadn’t been the entire truth. Mac would’ve loved to stay and watch the show; Sloan couldn’t bear the thought of it, the idleness. She didn’t begrudge Will the airtime. It wasn’t that. She preferred that he have it. It was the emptiness of it, the time she’d been filling without him there was suddenly empty again.

Things would settle down eventually, she would settle in, she knew that, but tonight she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of staying to watch the show. She’d been craving this, the comfort of being half asleep, her emotions tamed, lost in the soft contentment Mac murmured to herself. It’s quiet here as she slips in and out of awareness, basking in the quiet calm, missing the sound of the key in the lock, the footsteps through the still empty apartment. She can sense him though, Don, stepping carefully through the space to brush her hair back from where it’s tangled around her face. She wakes enough to mumble something and he hushes her, tells her to go back to sleep and so she does, fingers curling more tightly into Mac’s t-shirt.

It’s the sun that wakes her next. They’d never bothered finding curtains, none of them had seemed too put off by the light and she was normally up by the time the sun peeked between the adjacent buildings anyway, even at this time of year. This morning though she’d slept in and so had Mac, a luxury they’d so rarely been allowed.

Sloan had always loved mornings, even these, even if she preferred post-coffee Mac to the irritable grumbling that followed the incessant blaring of the alarm. She liked that while Mac never stayed close through the night she always shifted closer in the early dawn hours, half awake as Sloan woke, she would curl closer, a tempting invitation. Even now as her upper body is turned one arm stretched, reaching across the empty side of the bed through the divot Will had left, she has he knees nestled behind Sloan’s.

Will had slept there beside Mac. He’d left the pillow dimpled, a spare sheet crinkled. He’s been awake for awhile it seems, the space he’d vacated is cold, so she’s expecting to find him in the kitchen. She isn’t expecting to see Don.

“Good morning.” He smiles at her, wrapping one arm around her waist, tugging her over to where he’s sitting on an actual, if rickety, wooden chair, as she tries to absorb what’s going on.

“How? Where?”

“Jimmy Olsen’s been stashing camping gear in the hall closet. It turns out it’s not so bad if—”

“Will?”

“He didn’t have the heart to wake you up.” Will gestures with a spatula. “Chocolate chips or blueberries?”

“Both. So why?”

“In the same pancake? It was almost midnight. It seemed logical at the time.”

“Either way.” She sighs as she feels Don’s nose press into her stomach, tickling. “And now?”

“You look quite sweet when you’re sleeping.” He turns again to smile at her. “And Mac wasn’t elbowing me awake at three a.m. to ask me about something at the office.”

“So this is, isn’t a thing?”

“Could be.” Will agrees and she hears Don mumble something. Probably something about the two of them being hopelessly convoluted given Will’s chuckle, but it’s incomprehensible and relatively unimportant given Mac’s sudden appearance at that moment.

“Good morning, Don.” She yawns, shuffling barefoot to the stove to offer Will a kiss before stepping over to join the two of them, her head tipped to rest against Sloan’s shoulder. “You weren’t too hot last night were you? I keep telling Will we need to get an AC but he won’t go to the store like a normal person,” she pauses gleefully, “and buy one. He has to have Jenna do his research first.”

“I’m doing my own research.” Will protests, ladle held carefully over the griddle so he doesn’t drip batter on the floor as he turns to frown at her. “I don’t want the damn thing breaking the day after we get it installed.”

“He doesn’t understand warranties.” Mac mock whispers and Don coughs, before peering up at both of them

“You could get a place with central air.”

“And a couple of extra bedrooms.” Sloan tacks on with a smile at Mac when Will starts making protesting noises as he fusses with a pancake, the batter for which had almost missed the griddle.

“I said could be, not run with it, Sloan.” He warns but there aren’t any sharp edges to the words. He’s not trying to wave her off, he’s asking for more time.

“I’m not moving in. Well,” she pauses in mock consideration knowing she’s grinning, knowing from the glint in Mac’s eye that neither of them are going to last very long before they dissolve into laughter. “Unless Don agrees to timeshare his apartment.”

“Whoa, wait a second.” Don cuts in predictably. “Who said anything about—”

“It would save me a ton of money in rent. It’d actually—”

“Hey. Hey.” It’s Don and Will together over the top of the sound of Mac’s laughter.

“I said I wasn’t kicking you out of bed.” Will’s waving the spatula around again and she’s laughing, she and Mac hanging on to each other in case one of them decides to lose it completely. “I never said anything about—”

“She’s teasing, Billy.” Mac manages, grinning. “They’re not moving in. We’d have to get another bed first.”

“That’s a comfort.” Will grumbles.

“It would be.” Mac agrees, gently, seriously, her grip on Sloan’s arm tightening momentarily. “It’s been nice having them around. We could use the extra hands.”

Will sets the spatula down and turns to look at her, at the three of them, no longer laughing but all three smiling, and sighs before throwing his hands up. “We’re going to need a bigger coffee maker if I’m going to have to deal with the three of you every morning.”


End file.
